


Snoring Disrupts my Concentration

by onyxjay



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Gen, Headcanon, John is done, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Makes Deductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 01:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18110456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyxjay/pseuds/onyxjay
Summary: Sherlock doesn’t like John snoring while he’s figuring out a crime. John doesn’t like Sherlock throwing objects to stop his snoring.





	Snoring Disrupts my Concentration

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by posts on bbcsherlockheadcanon and teatective on Tumblr
> 
> Trying to make up deductions is hard

All was silent at 221B Baker Street, which was unusual in and of itself. There were no experiments going on in the kitchen, no clients talking about their problems, and no clicking of keyboards on the laptop.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, deep in thought. He was so close to figuring out who committed the murder.

It couldn’t have been the wife; she had been at the park with her daughter judging by the mud on the girl’s shoes and the tired lines on the woman’s face.

It couldn’t have been the man’s coworker; he had been at the bank, Sherlock had noted when he saw the hastily stuffed bills in his wallet.

It couldn’t have been-

A soft, droning noise broke him out of his reverie.

“John, shut up, I am thinking,” Sherlock said.

No response.

Sherlock went back into his mind palace.

Where was he? Ah, yes. The murder. Not the wife, not the coworker. What about the-

The noise was back, slightly louder now.

Sherlock glared over at the other man that was lying on the couch. John had have fallen asleep while Sherlock was thinking. Noticing the awkward position he was in, Sherlock could see he had dozed off.

John murmured something and shifted slightly. Sherlock hoped the snoring would cease now. He turned his head back to face forward.

The man’s brother had come over to visit two days before the crime took place. It had been unexpected, to say the least. Neither the man nor his brother had really spoken to each other much, and the brother had apparently been acting odd before the man’s death.

Another snore, this one the loudest yet, was the last straw. Without looking, Sherlock reached around and picked up a random object and threw it in John’s general direction.

“Jesus!” John exclaimed, waking up to the sensation of something whacking his face. “What was that for?” he demanded.

“Snoring disrupts my concentration,” Sherlock said calmly.

“You could have woken me up,” John groused.

“I did wake you up.”

“You could have woken me up without bruising my face with the remote,” John said.

“You won’t bruise,” Sherlock replied calmly. “Your face doesn’t even sting anymore.”

That was true, but John wasn’t about to admit it. “Next time, if you must throw something, throw a pillow or some other softer thing.” He stood up and went up to his room to get some rest without having to worry about remotes being thrown at him.

Sherlock made no indication he heard, having slipped back into his mind palace.

The next morning, when John came down, Sherlock was still deep in thought. “I’m making coffee. Do you want any?”

Sherlock didn’t respond.

“Tea?”

Nothing.

John cautiously walked over and waved his hand in front of Sherlock’s face. The detective didn’t even bat an eye. “Sherlock?”

When there was still no response, John gave up and went into the kitchen. He came back out a moment later and sat down in his chair.

It remained silent for a while, broken only by the soft clinking when John put down his cup.

A look crossed over John’s face as he looked at Sherlock’s motionless figure in front of him.

 

 

 

While Sherlock wasn’t doing anything outwardly, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.

It hadn’t been the wife, that coworker, or even that brother. The man didn’t commit suicide, either, even though he had stopped taking the medicine to help with his depression.

The answer suddenly came clear.

“JOHN,” he said, leaping to his feet, “I KNOW WHO COMMITED THE CRI-”

With an undignified yelp, Sherlock fell forward, landing on his face. He scrambled to his feet, or he tried to. His shoelaces had been tied together, and by the laughter that rang out in front of him, it was quite obvious who did it.

“Are you done yet?” Sherlock said.

John’s sniggering died down, only to come back full force at Sherlock’s face.

“I do believe you want to know who was responsible for his death.”

“All right, all right, I’m listening.”


End file.
